


a pair of trainers

by onegirlandherpen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Differing habits, Disagreement left unresolved, Disagreements, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg's happy with a little mess, Living Together, M/M, Mycroft likes neatness and order, Not Fluff, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Rupert Graves Birthday Auction 2018, Shoes, Sorry!, Touching, domestic mystrade, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15192005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onegirlandherpen/pseuds/onegirlandherpen
Summary: Greg likes to leave his trainers by the door; Mycroft likes everything tidied away. Navigating their differences may not be straight forward.





	a pair of trainers

**Author's Note:**

> Rupert Graves Birthday Auction 2018. This fic was written for leg-grestrade - many thanks for bidding on my fic in this year's auction!
> 
> They asked for Mystrade, adjusting to living together. Prompt word: enervating

  


'Oh.'

Greg stared down at the spot where he'd left them last night. Running a hand through his hair, he scanned the hallway floor once more; they definitely weren't there. And then he noticed the work shoes he'd only taken off an hour ago weren't there either; nor his leather bike boots from Sunday. Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out slowly; Greg could hazard a pretty accurate guess what'd happened to them.

'Mycroft?'

Raising his voice to carry down the hall into the sleek modern kitchen of Mycroft's Mayfair townhouse - no, their house; Greg had to get used to that. The sound of closing cupboard doors was followed by clipped footsteps on old oak floorboards.

'Gregory?'

A hand slipped across his back and Greg felt his skin heat at the touch. Turning his head to take in the beautiful sight of a casual Mycroft - waistcoat removed and shirt sleeves rolled up

'Have you seen my trainers?'

'Oh, the ones you wear for your evening run? I've put them in the shoe rack.'

'Shoe rack?' Greg stared at him. 'Since when did we have a shoe rack?'

'I purchased it Monday. Well, actually Mrs Roberts did.'

'Mycroft, seriously?' Greg shook his head. 'You got your housekeeper to go shopping for you?'

' _Our_ housekeeper. Mrs Roberts doesn't mind, she's quite accommodating.' His hand had started rubbing circles on Greg's back, sending little shivers through him. 'And she's very well paid.'

'Hmm.' _Their_ housekeeper. No, that still felt weird.

But, a shoe rack? Mycroft did have a certain desire for neatness - his wardrobe was a master class in neat, a drawer or hanger or shelf for everything, including his shoes. Not that Greg was messy, but some things he was happy not to put away, like his trainers; if he could see them, then he was more likely to use them.

'It was chaotic by the front door with all the discarded shoes.' Mycroft placed a soft kiss on Greg's temple. 'So I tidied them away.'

' _You_ tidied?'

Dropping his hand, Mycroft stepped back, his face a little guarded.

'Do not sound so surprised Gregory. I am capable of performing... housework.' Though Mycroft's tone did not suggest that he would've enjoyed it.

'I'm sure you are.' Greg reached out to rest his hand on Mycroft's bare forearm. 'It's just I like to leave my trainers out.'

'Yes, you do.' The words were harsh as Mycroft pulled back from Greg's touch.

Feeling the abrupt loss of his lover's skin against his startled Greg. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

If Mycroft had a problem he should've said. How long had they been living together - six months? And only now did he decide to say something?

'My only meaning is that I do not like seeing them abandoned at the bottom of the staircase, laces still tied, smelling out the hallway.'

' _Smelling_? Are you saying that my feet smell?'

'Well, no. But it was just so... untidy.' A pained look crossed his face, Mycroft making no attempt to hide it.

God, he really did have a thing about neatness; an obsession, almost.

'Fine, so you don't like seeing my trainers left on the floor. You'd rather I get fat with all those posh dinners you get delivered? I need to run them off, I'm not naturally a stick insect like you.'

'Stick insect?' A perfectly groomed eyebrow arched, his chin tilting upwards. 'I see. Clearly, if you would rather live on baked beans on toast and beer, then by all means do. And leave the dishes in the sink all night as well.'

What, the..? Where did all that come from? Greg watched the warm blue of Mycroft's eyes cool. Was he storing up resentments, picking at petty things? Why? Was Mycroft  tired of their relationship? Tired of him?

A sudden, strong need to get out of the house hit him. Greg wanted to feel the footpath hard under his feet, to run until the tense ache in his chest subsided.  

'Ok, Mycroft, whatever.'

Greg turned away, grabbing his hoodie from the coat stand. If that was how Mycroft felt, if that was what really mattered to him, then maybe this 'experiment' (as Mycroft had wanted to call their moving in together) was turning out to be a bad idea.

'Just tell me where my trainers are.' Dragging on his hoodie, Greg caught the zip in his t-shirt as he yanked at it. 'And I'll get out of your way.'  

  
  *****  


 

 

 


End file.
